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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351539">at the end of your path</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito/pseuds/sophiecognito'>sophiecognito</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>FFxivWrite, FFxivWrite2020, Gen, Introspection, POV Second Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:48:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito/pseuds/sophiecognito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light contemplates the past, now at the twilight of their years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>at the end of your path</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the FFxiv Write event!</p><p>Day 7: Nonagenarian</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s quiet now. You’re not sure if it sits right with you, personally.  </p><p>Much needed, though, now that your joints creak and rattle with every gesture. In the back of your mind, you remember a conversation decades ago with someone (their name escapes you, but your memory was always a bit lacking now was it) suggesting company in the twilight of your years. You had nodded, but left it at that, remains so in the present. </p><p>Your cabin is tucked away from the main road, trees obscuring the bend in the trail. Only curious children find it and when they do most hang around before growing bored. Such is a child’s nature. No monsters beset them, no creatures misshapen from corrupted aether threaten them. </p><p>Was that your doing? You do not remember. </p><p>Sometimes, a child gathers enough courage and foolishness to knock on your door. Once, children of a faraway nation had peppered you with questions, bright eyed despite their uncertain future. Your answers deemed satisfactory, they had pulled you to and fro. </p><p>Perhaps it's the weight of the memory that drags you toward the door. When the child peers at you, there’s no spark of recognition, yet you smile. Legends may speak of your name and deeds, but they have forgotten the person; you don’t begrudge the small mercy.</p><p>A shock of white hair greets you rousing a chuckle from deep in your chest. You match. The resemblance to many of your past companions softens your edges as you invite the child for tea. </p><p>There’s no weapon by the threshold. The world is quieter, aye, and though you long for the weight of adventure even at your age, you have fought for this peace. For this child to inquire about you, full of innocence. </p><p>You can deal with quiet.</p>
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